Canadian Veterans
by Herringway
Summary: It's July First, and Canada is forgotten again... or is he? A fic written around the poem 'Canadian Veterans'. Sadly, there's no 'Historical' genre, so I guess Hurt/Comfort will have to do.


Canadian Veteran

It was July first, and Canada remained seated at the conference table. He didn't speak up, because he knew it was futile... he wouldn't be acknowledged by anybody, even if it was his birthday. No, they were all preparing for _America's_ birthday, which was in another three days. He sighed and let his head hit the table quietly, and let a rebellious tear or two escape his eyes and hit the wooden table.

There wasn't much point in pretending it didn't hurt, because it did. It seemed to get worse and worse every year. But nothing changed. His achievements were simply brushed aside and he was forgotten. It was his own fault, he guessed. He was always so polite, so cordial. He never bothered to change it because he'd just feel like an asshole deep down, no matter what.

There was a 'ting'-ing sound, like a pen tapping a glass of water repeatedly. Canada looked up and quickly wiped his eye as England cleared his throat and addressed the nations. "As you all know, there is a special occasion around this time of year," he spoke loudly enough that all could hear him, and Canada took a deep breath through his nose and let his head rest on the table again. This was just going to be another speech about how proud England was of his son, of the strong nation he had become who had helped so many during the war.

This same speech was given every year, and each time Canada's hopes were built up and then crushed again when a "Happy Birthday, _America_" was given. Inside, it infuriated him. What was wrong with _him_? What had he done to deserve to be treated like...

"It's a saddening thought that sometimes, things that should never be forgotten, are." England continued. Canada blinked and sat up, gazing at England with wonder as he sipped from his teacup. "Selfless deeds and sacrifices that were made, that shape the world as it is now, taken for granted and simply cast aside. It isn't right," He admitted. "And I will admit that I have been a shoddy parent, twice."

Canada was flummoxed. Twice? He shook his head. No, it couldn't have been him England was talking about. Sealand, maybe. For certain, England would remember America, and Sealand, but not him, not Canada, no. _But Sealand wasn't involved in any wars. It could only be one person he's talking about, _he thought. Canada leaned forward in his chair, listening to England's speech. "Canada. Would you come up here, please?" Canada's jaw dropped. "A few of us have something to say to you."

He wasted no time. Quickly wiping his eyes, Canada was up and to the podium at the front of the room. He cleared his throat and looked down at England, in apparent confusion. England smiled and stood aside from the podium, and motioned to a line of countries, each one wearing two pins on their lapels. The first was a flag. Red, white, and red again, with a maple leaf in the middle. The second was of a simple flower, red and black. The Poppy. A symbol of remembrance.

First was Germany. The Aryan nation withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and stepped to the podium and put on a pair of reading glasses, and spoke into the microphone.

"_If I met a Canadian veteran,  
I would dress up in his honor, but not say a word,  
In silence, I would look and admire him,  
Searching for past suffering in his eyes,  
Wondering what his thoughts were sixty years later.  
I would only offer him a smile,  
And remember the look in his eyes until the end of time."_

Germany turned to Canada, and gave the younger nation a proud salute. Canada's cheeks were a rosy hue, and he returned the gesture, saluting Germany. A slight smile formed on Germany's lips and he turned, walking back to his spot at the conference table.

Belgium was up next. From her hip pocket, she withdrew a photograph of herself, her brother Netherlands, and Canada, outside of a Dutch city. Belgium and Netherlands were cradling boxes of food, and Canada stood between them, an arm wrapped around both of them. On a rooftop in the background, "Thank you, Canadians" was painted by a Dutchman's family. There was writing on the back of the photo. 'April 28, 1945 - End of the Hunger Winter, Our Liberation. Thank you, Canada', followed by another paragraph beneath it. Belgium smiled and she swallowed to supress her tears as she recited it:

_"If I met a Canadian veteran,  
I would like to take his hand and  
Show him the places where he fought,  
Show him the memorials erected in his name,  
Show him what my village-his village-has become,  
I would like to tell him  
That thanks to him we have our liberty."_

She couldn't hold back any longer. Tears streaming down her face, she threw herself into Canada's arms and kissed his cheek, her appreciative thank-yous muffled into his shoulder. She let him go and stepped to the side. Netherlands, who had been quiet this entire time, never said a word, but instead shook Canada's hand firmly, and handed him a tulip. The siblings then took their respective seats.

Hungary approached Canada. In her hands she had nothing, but a piece of paper, much like Germany did. She took a deep breath to calm herself down; to avoid bursting into tears like Belgium before her (and Ukraine since the start). Her hands began to shake as she read.

_"If I met a Canadian veteran,  
Limping along on his injured leg,  
I would like to tell him he is a Great Man,  
Having fought for us so courageously,  
Ignoring fear, fatigue and the pain in his heart.  
I would imagine him, gun in hand, saving a child  
Who could have been my mom or dad."_

Austria placed a consoling hand on her shoulder, and passed her a dark green headdress. She nodded, and passed Canada the beret. He turned it over in his hands, relearning old stitching, and the name sewn into the seams. _Hungary._ He had returned this to her in 1956, when she had fought (and lost) her rebellion against Russia, her fight for independence. He helped her people into his country, and made sure she was properly fed during that time, so that she may live and rebuild to be the nation she was today.

When she spoke of his injuries, he winced. Normally, they didn't start to hurt until November eleventh. It was probably because that day was reserved for remembering the great sacrifices made during World War One and World War Two. But the memory of his battles caused the phantom pains to resurface.

Hungary wasted no time after and, like Belgium, kissed his other cheek, and returned to her seat. Austria nodded. "Thank you for looking out for her." He said quietly, and returned to his seat.

Finally, Ukraine stepped to the podium. Her shoulders were shaking violently, and the tears were streaming down her face. However, on her lips was a full smile, one of happiness and gratitude. She had no paper with her, unlike her predecessors.

_"Now, standing before this Canadian veteran,  
as a thank-you from the bottom of my heart,  
I would offer him my modest gifts:  
These words, these flowers, a kiss on the cheek  
And, symbolized by a dove, his gift to us,  
PEACE."_

As she spoke, she handed to him a bouquet of roses, red and white. The two shared an embrace, and, rather than kiss his cheek, as she read, she pressed her lips to his. There was applause from all the nations, and she pulled away and returned to her seat, still crying, but feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl.

He smiled in gratitude and stepped to the podium. "I... Thank you very much, everyone. You have... you all have no idea how grateful I am, for all this."

No doubt about it. This was the best birthday gift anyone could receive.

_**Author's Note - The poem used above, Canadian Veterans, was written by children of Carpiquet and given to the veterans during the pilgrimage in Normandy in June 2004. As soon as I read it, I knew that this had to be done. So here it is. I hope you enjoyed it!**_

_**A few notes about the fic.  
**_

_***I've always wanted to see Germany salute Canada, and I think after the battle of Vimy Ridge, Canada earned one here.  
*After the liberation of the Dutch (Operation Manna, the end of the Hunger Winter), many Dutch families actually did paint 'Thank You Canadians' on their roofs.  
*The scene involving Hungary, Canada and the Beret is influenced by The King in White's HunCan fic 'Gravitation', during the scene symbolizing Hungary's 1956 revolt against Russia.  
**_

_**~Herringway**_


End file.
